Permanent
by Jameson Rook
Summary: Mild spoilers for 4x01! So we all know what Kate was doing during the three month gap during the premiere. But, what was Castle doing after the captain kicked him out? Here's my take on it. Angsty, not much dialogue. WARNING: Mentions of alcoholism.


_**So, today has been a rather emotionally draining day for me, so I feel that I needed to write something to mirror my own emotions. I apologize to all of you that do not like angst (Sam, I'm looking at you.) But, this is my warning that this will not be a fluffy fic. I really have no direction in my mind as to where this story is headed, I just have a general idea of what I want to do so you'll have to bear with me. Please read and review, much love to all of you. -J.R.**_

_** Disclaimer: Castle and all of its characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe and ABC. "Permanent" by David Cook.**_

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_** Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?**_

_** Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry.**_

_** And everything it will surely change,**_

_** Even if I tell you I won't go away, today.**_

_** Will you think that you're all alone **_

_** When no one's there to hold your hand?**_

_** You know you never seemed so far away,**_

_** When everything is temporary, rest your head.**_

_** I'm permanent.**_

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The brisk air that blew across Centeral Park bit through Castle's brown duster jacket, sprinkling pins and needles of numbness through his torso. His pink cheeks had lost feeling nearly an hour before, and his purple-tinged fingers were clutched around a now cool paper coffee cup.

He stared straight ahead, not really focusing on anything in particular, simply staring into space. He took a sip of the luke warm coffee, the cool liquid seeming to bunch in his throat and almost causing him to choke. But, reguardless of how settled and bitter the coffee tasted, he didn't notice. Nothing had taste, nothing had texture. It was all just...plain.

Three months. It had been three months since he had wrapped her in his arms, feeling her warm blood seeping out of her body. The metallic smell of the crimson substance would never leave his nostrils. Sure, he'd seen large amounts of blood while he was shadowing Beckett and the boys, but...somehow it was different when it was the woman that he loved bleeding out beneath his fingers. The words that he had whispered, the words that only the tragedy that ripped his heart out had given him the courage to say, flashed through his mind.

_'Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate.'_

There wasn't a day that went by since Montgomery's funeral that he didn't curse himself for not telling her sooner. Maybe they would have had more time. Maybe he would have had a chance to be her 'one and done'. Instead she was off somewhere healing with _him_. With Josh. The thought of them together turned his stomach. He took another sip of the coffee, however with that sip he was actually able to taste the burn of the whiskey that he'd laced into the coffee.

When his drinking had first started increasing, after the shooting, Alexis had been concerned. His mother had been concerned. Hell, the boys had even been concerned until Gates kicked him out of the precinct. So, he'd found that the secret to avoiding all of their disapproving looks, their lectures about how that 'wasn't the way to deal with the situation', and the constant reminder from them that Kate was, in fact, alive, was to hide his drinking.

He'd slip a few shots of whiskey into his morning coffee. A splash of vodka into a glass of orange juice around lunch time. The beer at dinner wasn't something he had to hide, he was a man afterall, and men drank beer, right? After Martha and Alexis had been safely tucked into bed and the sounds of their even breaths filled his house he would break out the decanter of perfectly aged scotch that he kept in his safe. He'd pour glass after glass, staring at his laptop vacantly, until he finally stumbled to his bedroom and collapsed face first into the cushion of down-feather pillows on his bed. When he stood back and actually thought about it, it was pathetic. He had become pathetic. And he completely blamed Kate Beckett.

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_** I know he's living in hell every single day,**_

_** And so I ask "Oh, God is there some way for me to take his place?"**_

_** And when they say "he's so touch and go",**_

_** I wish I could make it go away.**_

_** But still you say,**_

_** "Will you think that you're all alone **_

_** When no one's there to hold your hand?"**_

_** You know you never seemed so far away,**_

_** When everything is temporary, rest your head.**_

_** I'm permanent.**_

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__He stood from the bench slowly, his frosted joints creeking loudly. Castle winced slowly, taking another long draw from his coffee cup to try and ease the pain that radiated through his body, reminding him that age was starting to catch up with him. He started the trek back out of the park, his feet shuffling over the ground slowly. Auburn colored leaves whirled around his shoes, crunching under his soles when he stepped on them.

Fall had crept into New York with a speed and grace that he usually only compared with things such as figure skaters and horseback riders. The warm summer breeze had given way to a chilly fall air. The mornings were bitterly cold after the ninty-degree days that his body had grown accustomed too, but somehow he was okay with that. The change in the seasons had seemed to mirror the change in himself. His blood had gone from running through the body of a witty, sarcastic, charming best-seller to ice running through the veins of a man who had lost all hope in everything.

A crow landed on the telephone wire high above his head as he stepped out of Centeral Park and into the buzzing epicenter of the city. He walked through the crowds on the side walks, brushing past strangers, ignoring some of the calls of 'hey, you're Rick Castle, I love your books!'. He didn't want to deal with any incouraging fans any more. He didn't want people to tell him how much they enjoyed the Nikki Heat books. He didn't want to have to answer whether or not Jameson Rook was, in fact, based off himself. He just didn't want the life that he had been living anymore. He missed Kate. He missed her so much that the simple act of taking a breath felt like he was ripping razor blades up the inside of his lungs and throat. The painful beat of his heart in his chest was enough to stop him from attempting to communicate with anyone else. He had reached the end of his rope. This was where he made his stand. Too bad the stand he made was against himself.

He walked the last few blocks to his destination, his feet carrying him unconciously through the city. The book store was large, with frosted glass windows in front of 'new release' displays. He pushed through the door easily, ducking his head and making his way to the table that they had set up for him, scoffing at the cardboard cut out of himself that smirked at him mercilessly.

The line of eager fans, most of them women just eager for the chance to become one of 'Rick Castle's conquests' were shifting from one foot to the other quickly. He settled into the plastic chair, uncapped the permanent marker to the right of the stack of his new books and motioned for the first person to come up to the table. He threw on a smile that even a toddler could tell was fake, and asked the question that had become so second nature that he barely had to think about it.

"Who should I make it out to?"

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_** Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?**_

_** Forgive my promise that you'll never see me cry.**_

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__The signing seemed to go on for hours, the line of fans all blurring together. He made idle chit-chat with each new fan, not really paying attention to what they were saying. Everyone basically said the same thing, so the generic answer that he had crafted usually worked.

What was actually captivating his attention was the figure on the front fo the burnt yellow cover. Nikki. She was everything that embodied what was good in his life. She was the Kate that he wished he was able to see. The Kate that loved him. He wanted her to be the Nikki Heat to his Jameson Rook, but if he was being honest with himself he knew that would never happen. She was extraordinary. He was a rundown author that went to his signings bombed out of his mind and skated through everyday, secretly praying that it might be his last. He hadn't eaten anything solid in longer than he could even remember.

A lot of people had been complimenting him on the muscle that had begun to show through the dress slacks and shirts that he wore. He'd smile and thank them, give them the excuse that he had a lot of time to work out since 'Iron Gates' had kicked him out. But that wasn't what it was, and he knew that they knew that too. He'd dropped weight at an alarming rate. He was brought out of his reverie when a familiar voice answered his question of "who do I make it out to?"

"Kate." His eyes shot up to the emerald green pools that had captivated him for the past three years. "You can make it out to Kate."

He felt a warming flow through his body, and he knew that, for the first time in three months, it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He felt the fears, the pain, the aggrivation, the anger, and all of the depression that he thought had drug him into the rabbit hole disappear. He suddenly remembered why the sunshine was a good thing, why a bird singing on a calm spring night was something that should bring a smile to his face. He remembered what it was like to wake up and not have to down asprin to kill the impending hang over that had become more a routine than his morning coffee. He remembered the meaning of 'always'. Sure, he was angry with her for not calling. But he remembered. And for now, that was enough.

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End file.
